


The Green Butchered

by alivehawk1701



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blame Mads, Cannibalism, Crossover with The Green Butchers, Fluff, M/M, Sort of post my last fic, how could i not, i should be writing something else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivehawk1701/pseuds/alivehawk1701
Summary: Settled into their new life in Denmark Will and Hannibal discover they may have something in common with the new butcher in town and go to say hello. It's a bit of fluff but I had to get it out of my system after watching the Green Butchers for the fourth time. I won't apologize.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	The Green Butchered

**Author's Note:**

> Svend and Hannibal are speaking Danish, of course, but obviously in English here ;)

It was an unexpectedly sunny day in Denmark. There were worst winters, Baltimore being one of them, but that in no way minimized our appreciation at seeing the sun again after nearly a week of bleak grey skies. The small winding streets, drenched in the rich golden light of late afternoon gave the unmistakable impression that they were airing out, damp evaporating into the air with long awaited thankfulness. 

As we walked, I laced my fingers together with Will’s and glanced at his face where an equally bright smile elevated my steps to near dancing across the cobblestones. He was so beautiful. Even and especially when he didn’t know it.

The queue, which had extended down the block, was now graciously reduced to a scattered few, standing with clutched purses and quivering glances at their watches. All hoping to get into the butchers before it closed. We took our place at the back of the line. No worries. I’d wait hours upon days if it meant I could wait with Will by my side. Indeed a perfect day would be defined simply and perfectly as waiting in a line with the man I loved.

We had happily and comfortably adjusted to our life in Aalborg. Abigail was attending a nearby university and Will, with a very determined need to work with hands again, was doing casual repair work at a nearby dock. And for the first time in many years I was happy to simply be at home, devoting my time to various hobbies and domestic duties in between taking long walks with Will and the dogs. Winston and Buster had adapted quite well to Denmark. We all had.

Pulling Will’s hand I spun him to face me, taking his other hand so I could pull him towards me, “You must think I’m terribly lazy,” I said, drawing his arms around me to rest on my hips. An older woman eyed us with tight lips and a curious gaze. After a moment she seemed to shrug and nod in understanding. The Danes were a pleasant people. They had a way of reducing often glut and bloated daily interactions into simple, direct and genuine exchanges. I appreciated the lack of camouflage but sometimes balked at the lack of nominal pleasantries.

“Of course not,” Will shook his head, pulling at the folds of my shirt, until my hips met the warm heat of his trousers with a sly grin, “Far from lazy. Resourceful? Rainy day plan?” he mused and placed a soft kiss on my lips, “Besides, this could save us a far amount of freezer space.”

“True,” I nodded and glanced at the windows that read, “Svend & Co.” in dark letters, “And if he is less than receptive, Abigail’s birthday is coming up and I’d like to plan a meal for her.”

Will shuffled forward but I kept close enough to feel the bump of his hip against mine as he asked, “Did she ask you about living on campus?”

“She asks nearly every hour on the hour,” I said with a sigh.

“I know where you stand on it, I do, but it’s been a year. She’s safe. We’re safe. She wants to be closer to her friends. I think we can mediate the risks.”

“College aged children are predictably senseless in unpredictable ways .”

“Abigail isn’t.”

“And I’d prefer she stay that way.”

“Hannibal,” Will said, turning to slide his cold hands into the pockets of my jacket, “You’re protective of her. But if you don’t give her space that protectiveness will feel more and more like imprisonment to her and she will just end up resenting you.”

His brilliant blue eyes caught the sun and I felt with unobscured certainty that I was being manipulated. How little I minded it. I shifted closer to him, drawing the lengths of my jacket around him for warmth and bumped our noses together as he smiled. The warm huffs of his breath over my lips made my eyes roll shut as I said, if reluctantly, “I’d be more comfortable if it were an apartment, not school accommodations.”

He kissed me and gripped my hips through my jacket, “I knew you’d see reason.”

The older woman entered the shop and we followed, the last ones in. The lobby was small. After a busy day the floor was covered in dirt and bits of dried leaves. Obviously they’d been too busy to sweep up throughout the day. Which was good for them. So new in the neighborhood and competitors to at least one long established butcher was further proof of their early yet promising success. 

Behind the counter was a tall thin man in a strange sea foam green coloured coat and hat. The hat was sitting at an odd angle on his balding head and it was unmistakably damp with sweat around the edges. I curiously flared my nostrils and though I expected the foul odor of anyone that perspires so profusely I didn’t; he was clean, faintly smelling of blood and cigarette smoke, but tidy, if exceedingly damp.

The woman left with her parcel and the door shut with a jingle behind her. I stepped up to the counter while Will remained behind me. Without looking I knew he’d flipped the sign on the door to “closed” and returned to stand next to me, interlacing our fingers. How I loved the lack of need for words, how in sync we were after time and trust had given glorious shape to our relationship. 

“Svend?” I asked.

“Yes. You must have seen me on television,” Svend said, reaching to take off his cap which he seemed to wring with his hands as wet strands of hair fell across his forehead. Yet he smiled, pleased to be recognized and even more pleased, I imagine, to be through with this day.

“You’ve had a fair amount of news coverage. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he replaced the cap on his head and glanced quickly at Will and at the door, “What can I get you?”

“My husband and I were here last week. We picked up a few steaks and they were truly extraordinary.”

“Ah! My chickie-wickies?”

“Yes, I believe that’s what you called them. Do you have more?”

“I do. I have the last of my supply here, if you are interested.”

“I am,” I said as Will stepped forward to look into the fairly empty glass case.

“Dyrekød?” Will asked, looking back at me.

“Venison,” I told him.

“Ah,” Will nodded and rocked back on his heels, looking up to Svend who seemed, unsurprisingly, unprepared for the singular beauty of meeting those eyes. So much like me. “I’m still learning Danish,” Will explained in English. 

A flash of sharp teeth showed as Svend smiled and stammered, “I know very little English. It’s okay.” 

I watched Svend wrap the last two of his chickie-wickies and asked him with a tickling curiosity, “Where do you get them?”

“They’re local.”

“I’m sure,” I said and stepped forward to hand him payment, “But they’re not chicken. Nor beef.”

“It’s the marinade,” he said, clearing his throat before running both of his hands down the front of his coat.

“No,” I said and watched a drop of sweat drip down the length of the man’s high cheekbone, “It’s the meat. Believe me,” I said, returning my wallet to my coat pocket, “I’d know.”

“I would know,” he said with pride, stacking the wrapped meat into a bag, “I butchered the meat myself,” he moved to walk around the counter. The moment the man was in motion his body seemed to hum like the wings of a moth, a bizarre combination of taut muscles over long bones and a neurotic, disjointed energy. He extended his arm to hand me the parcel of meat, “Here. I threw in some venison for your husband,” he nodded to Will, “Please, enjoy.” 

Will took the meat from Svend who looked astonished we weren’t just leaving. I met his eyes that had the same humming nervousness as his body, and considered, if just for a moment, how far to push him. If he was killing and selling human flesh we had an outright strong foundation for friendship. He could keep Will and I company while Abigail was at university. At least that’s one possibility. 

I tracked my eyes down his body, from the wet shine of his face, remarkable cheekbones and full lips, to the lean lines of his body as he clamped his hands onto his hipbones and sternly said, “Thank you. We’re closed now.”

We didn’t move. Instead I wrapped my arms around Will who was standing just in front of me and kissed just below his ear before saying to Svend, “It’s human meat,” I watched his hands fall from his hips, mouth dropping open, eyes darting back and forth from Will to me.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“We’re not going to report you,” Will said in broken Danish, as I settled my cheek against his with a contented sigh.

“We’re hoping to be loyal patrons,” I told Svend.

“Maybe have you over for dinner,” Will said warmly.

Svend was shaking his head, “No,” he wrapped his arms tightly around his thin chest, “I think you know I can’t.”

“Can’t what? Come to dinner?” I asked, slightly distracted by the push of Will’s ass against my groin. 

“I can’t tell you the secret of my . . . marinade, I can’t. I can’t.”

“A man should have secrets,” I agreed.

I felt Will nod, also in agreement then, sadly, he pulled away from me, moving to a shelf in the corner of the shop, “Do you make um,” he looked to me and asked in english, “Dog treats?”

“Dog treats,” I translated into Danish. 

Svend shook his head. 

“You should,” Will said, looking disappointed, “You know, scraps you don’t use, dried bits of . . .”

He trailed off and I finished for him, “Not that you need the extra business but it would further ingratiate you to the community here.”

“A lot of dog lovers,” Will pointed out.

Svend was not amused and didn’t seem open to the new opportunity, instead he asked in an insistent voice, “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We’re enthusiastic carnivorous, like yourself,” I explained and took a step forward to breathe in the man’s uneasiness, enjoying the warm glow of his skin, fighting an irresistible urge to lick the sweat from his face, “And we’d like to get to know you. It can be so advantageous to have a personal relationship with the local butcher. Right, darling?” I asked Will.

Will shrugged, “Or just make a new friend.”

Svend, to his credit, didn’t move, he met my eyes with a fierosity I admired. Slightly unstable, I mused clinically, just south of normal. Which made him interesting. He raised his chin and said forcibly, “Friends don’t accuse friends of cannibalism. Or of running a dishonest business.  Bjarne, ” he said the name loudly towards the back room, “Bjarne!”

“Bjarne isn’t here,” I said as I raised my hand to trace my fingers down the line of his jaw, scenting both fear and a helpless arousal in the man as he squared his shoulders and his lips parted to gasp slightly at my hand running down his throat, “But friends do keep secrets.”

Will found his way back to me and I felt his shoulder meet mine, eyes locked on Svend with curiosity and a biting possessiveness as my hand dropped from the other man’s jaw.

“You want me to come to dinner?” Svend asked, composing himself, “Me?”

“Yes,” I said amicably.

“With you two?”

It seemed unexpected to him. As if the idea of people wanting to spend time with him was a far and away concept. Lonely, I realized. I knew how that felt. How lovely a thought it was to offer belonging, acceptance, to the forlorn, the rejected. Such a cruel place the world can be to those that don’t fit in such a limited framework.

“And our daughter,” I elaborated.

“Tonight?” 

“If you don’t have plans.”

“No,” he looked down, biting at his plush lower lip, “I don’t.”

“Perfect,” I said, taking Will’s hand, “I feel like we have a lot to talk about. And we don’t live far from here, though,” I smiled and looked to Will who was curiously eying the surprised though seemingly grateful man in front of us, “It will have to be a later dinner,” I slid my hand down Will’s back to cup the curve of his ass, “We’ll be busy for the next few hours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun writing it. I hope you enjoyed. I loved the film, obviously, and was struck by Svend saying, painfully, that he'd never been loved. Perhaps he'd be more than willing and flattered to have our murder husbands take an interest in him, eh? And come on, the idea of double Mads is far to enticing to resist. Though how long he will last around Hannibal is anyone's guess. Let me know what you think, I'm off to work on the new story I was meant to be working on, bye bye and buy bonds!


End file.
